


Soldier

by jimmoriartyisthebestboss



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Artist Bucky Barnes, Artist Steve Rogers, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The First Avenger, During Canon, During World War II, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 13:54:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17961839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jimmoriartyisthebestboss/pseuds/jimmoriartyisthebestboss
Summary: Steve Rogers has saved Bucky Barnes from HYDRA. When Steve tries to find food in Bucky's pack, he finds something different.





	Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> The title is taken from the song Soldier by Fleurie.
> 
> Ever since I saw Civil War, I wanted to write something about Bucky having a notebook before that. When I found out that Steve and Bucky had taken an art class when they found out Pearl Harbor was bombed, I wanted to write an artist Bucky.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!

They were dirty, beaten and tired and yet they had never felt more awake in their life. It had been a spur of a moment decision for Steve to go and find his best friend. Now Steve stood in his friend’s tent and looked around at the sparse area. There was a cot that could be taken quickly to another location, a small table for writing letters and a pack leaned against the side of the tent. Bucky had gone to report to his commanding officer and had left Steve at the tent. It seemed shabbier than their apartment at home yet it felt comfortable. It smelled like Bucky. Steve could feel the warmth of Bucky’s soul and touch on everything around him.

Steve picked up the pack from the side of the tent and flipped it open. Inside was a gun, several different shells for Bucky’s guns, a change of clothing and undergarments. Rummaging through, Steve felt his fingers pass over the pictures he had sent Bucky and the letters wrapped around them. Then Steve’s fingers grazed a familiar notebook and he pulled it out of the bag. Bucky had told him to go into the pack to find some food rations to eat but Steve found this notebook more interesting. He flipped it open and sucked in a breath.

The pages were covered in drawings. When Japan had bombed Pearl Harbor, Steve and Bucky had been in an art class. Bucky had refused to show Steve what he was drawing and was laughing, saying his work was worse than Steve’s. Then the radio had crackled with the message and the room had gone quiet. The laugh had left Bucky’s face and he had slipped his notebook closed. From that moment, Bucky was determined, along with Steve, to join the war. Each picture was marked with a date and this one was the day of their art class.

The picture was of Steve, bent over his own sketchbook, hair falling into his eyes as he drew a sketch of their apartment kitchen. It was a very well-done picture, catching the way Steve felt comfortable drawing and showed his intense concentration on getting every line right. He flipped and the next picture was marked during the times that Bucky was at training camp. They were pictures from after he had come to visit Steve for a brief few hours. In various states, they showed Steve at the diner looking at a menu, laughing at a joke Bucky said, and finally asleep on their couch before Bucky had left.

Steve flipped through this notebook with various pictures of Steve from Bucky’s memories. Some were quick sketches between army movements. Some were more detailed sketches done during the night. One showed Steve how Bucky imagined him at home, writing his letters and drawing his pictures, bent over the paper in the lamplight. The tent flap rustled and Steve jumped at the sight of Bucky in front of him.

Bucky’s eyes were haunted and tried to hide a pain deep down inside. Bucky’s face was covered in dirt and grime. Blood was crusted on Bucky’s skin and he set his gun down next to the table. Steve’s eyes followed Bucky as he came to sit on the bed next to Steve and took the notebook from Steve. “Creepy huh?”

“You’re such a liar.” Bucky looked up at him, his eyes wondering if Steve would yell at him. “You’re a fantastic artist.” Steve said quietly.

A chuckle escaped Bucky’s lips and he shook his head. “I’m not like you.”

“I think they’re great. And flattering.” Steve leaned over to trace the picture of his own face with a finger and Bucky leaned into his side.

Steve was more solid now and Bucky listened to his breathing. There was no rasp or sign of his asthma. The part of Steve that had always worried Bucky, his sickness and asthma seemed to have gone and Bucky wondered how much Steve had changed. A heavy weight laid itself on top of Bucky’s head and he looked up to see Steve’s face pressed against his own. They sat in the silence, listening to men shouting outside and the tent moving in the wind.

“Guess I’m going to have to draw new pictures now. Since you’re not that skinny kid from Brooklyn anymore.” Bucky sat up and closed the notebook, shoving it back into his pack.

“I’m the same kid. Just bigger.” Steve said the words so quietly Bucky almost didn’t hear him.

Bucky turned to Steve and held open his arms, the pack flopping on the ground. Steve leaned into Bucky’s chest and they laid on the cot together. The dirt scratched at Bucky’s skin but in this moment, he felt better. Bucky could live with the pain and the dirt as long as he had Steve next to him. Bucky wasn’t going to let him go ever again.


End file.
